


which is a tenderness.

by redhoods



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, M/M, Trans Fjord (Critical Role), Trans Male Character, fjord's canonical self harm, mild fantasy racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21861097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Minutes drag into what feels like hours as he watches Fjord, the way he stands at the basin, hunched in, fingers tight around the table. He doesn’t move, nothing aside from the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes.“You’ll be disappointed,” he says, when the quiet is almost too much, but his voice is hushed, barely more than a whisper. There’s tinges of Vandran in it, like he’s struggling to keep from bringing the accent back, a layer of protection for himself against whatever’s happened.“Fjord, I would not—”Fjord turns suddenly then, shoulders hiked up, like he’s daring Caleb to be anything but disappointed.
Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 13
Kudos: 332





	which is a tenderness.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. i was just feeling a lot of things about how much tenderness these two deserve. fjord is implied to be trans in this, just cause, you know... he.
> 
> this one is heavy, so please mind the tags, take care of yourself. there's no in depth descriptions of any of it.
> 
> _and this is the map of my heart, the landscape  
>  after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is  
> a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying **Hold me  
>  tight, it's getting cold.**_  
> — _snow and dirty rain_ , richard siken

As soon as Caleb enters the tavern, Beau on his heels, Jester flitters over, twisting her fingers together nervously. She looks upset, not overly so, but enough to cause worry to bubble up in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beau reach for her, placing her hand over Jester’s blue ones.

“Jessie, what’s up?” Beau’s tone goes soft and gentle, compared to the way she’d been bitching at him during their trek back from the library.

Caleb casts his gaze to the tavern, but nothing seems terribly amiss on his first glance.

Jester’s face twists when he looks back to her before she flicks her glance away, looking down and off, “Nobody’s hurt,” she says in a sudden rush, “Well, not _very_ hurt? But Fjord is... well, Fjord and Nott got into a fight.”

There’s a pause before Beau snorts, “Okay, what’s new?”

He doesn’t see either Fjord or Nott in the tavern and the worry turns acrid.

“Oh,” Jester’s face goes slack with momentary surprise, “No, I mean, they got in a fight with someone else,” she leans in, whispers, “Nott stabbed a guy with a dagger and I think Fjord might’ve taken another guy’s eye out with his claws?” She curls her fingers at them like a cat clawing the air, then stares at her fingers, “Did you guys realize he has claws?”

“Is that—”

Caleb elbows Beau before she can finish that thought.

She jabs a finger into his ribs.

“He’s usually very careful about cutting them down,” Caleb says, elbows Beau again when she opens her mouth to remark. “What happened, Jester?”

Jester’s face twists again, “I’m not really sure?” She sighs heavily and someone comes in the door behind them so Beau loops one arm through Jester’s, grabs his bicep with the other, and nearly drags them across the tavern to an empty booth in the corner. Once they’re settled, Jester splays her hands flat on the table top, then turns her index fingers and thumbs into a rectangle, “Okay, so I was with Caduceus over here,” and wiggles one of her index fingers, “And Fjord and Nott were over here,” she wiggles the opposite.

“Okay, so you weren’t there to see the cause, what did you see?” Beau reaches out again, once more covering Jester’s hands with her own.

Their fingers tangle in a mix of deep tan and blue.

“Nott shouted something and by the time Caduceus and I had been able to part the crowd, Nott was uh... she’d stabbed a guy,” Jester says it slowly, like she’s confirming the events are in the proper order, “She was clinging to his back, kinda like how she does to you, Caleb, but without the dagger, obviously.” Her eyes go wide suddenly, “Oh! He’s alive. Actually, the guards arrested him? I’m not... Fjord would only talk to the guards and Nott and now he’s...”

She points up, “He’s locked himself in your room. He wouldn’t let me or Caduceus check him over, but Caduceus is sitting outside the door in case he changes his mind.”

Caleb frowns, stares down at his own hands, the copper wire around his wrist.

“Where’s Nott? Is she okay?”

“Oh yeah! She robbed the guys blind before the guards took them away, so she’s up counting gold and getting drunk in the room,” Jester leans in, “Caduceus is keeping an eye on her too, but she was a little... wild. Neither of us wanted to take the flask away.”

Caleb inhales and exhales slowly and glances at Beau, finds her already looking at him.

“We’ll keep an eye on Nott, maybe she’ll tell us,” Beau says with a divisive nod, already edging out of the booth.

Jester follows her with an apologetic smile, “I left a healer’s kit with Caduceus, you should take that in, if he’ll...” she trails off and shrugs.

“Thank you, Jester,” he knows. There’s every chance that Fjord won’t let him in and the thought alone is enough to make his stomach churn unpleasantly.

Beau tugs on her arm but Jester tugs her back without batting an eye, “I’ve never seen Nott like that, Caleb. She was so angry and then... she just wasn’t. She held Fjord’s hand even while they waited for the guards. Whatever happened, I think it was bad.”

Caleb manages a weary smile for her, “It’ll be okay, whatever happened.”

She smiles back, small and sad, but it’s gone fast as she turns back to Beau and the two of them link fingers as they head for the stairs.

He stays alone at the booth for four minutes and thirty-three seconds, debating on if he wants to message Fjord first or simply go to their door. Eventually he decides against the wire and takes the stairs to the first floor. At the end of the hall, he can see Caduceus, propped against the wall outside of the door to his and Fjord’s room.

Caduceus smiles when he approaches, “Mr. Caleb, Jester said you’d be up soon,” he says, congenial and easy, though the edges of his expression are tight with worry. He waves his hand backwards towards the closed door, “He won’t even talk to me, though I know he’s in there,” he lowers his voice for this.

Chances are Fjord hears it anyways, but Caleb appreciates what he’s trying to do.

“Jester said you had a kit?” He asks, closing the distance between himself and the door, tilting his ear towards it. He can’t hear anything inside, so he glances to Caduceus, who’s holding up one of Jester’s healer’s kit that’s wrapped several times around with a green ribbon. 

He watches in silence as Caduceus stands and steps away, to the door diagonal from him, “Let me know if you need anything,” he says, voice a low rumble, then nods.

Caleb waits for him to step into his room and shut his door before he wraps his knuckles on the closed door before him, “Fjord.” He resists the urge to rest his forehead against the wood, knowing that if Fjord opens the door without warning, he’d fall right in, “It’s just me out here. Will you open the door?”

There’s a clatter of something, muffled through the door, and Caleb won’t admit it, but he’s relieved to know that Fjord really is still in there.

Footsteps approach the door and he sees the shadow move in the light spilling out from the bottom. The lock flips, loud in the quiet of the hall, though the door doesn’t open. He lifts his hand and presses it open, confusion and worry thick in his throat.

Fjord is walking away from him, towards the small wash basin at the side of the room, his shoulders hunched. The seam where his left sleeve is attached to the torso of his tunic is ripped, revealing a stretch of faintly scarred green skin. He says nothing.

Caleb takes a few steps in and pushes the door shut behind him, careful to flip the lock back. “Fjord,” he says quietly, watches the way Fjord’s body locks up and makes a quiet decision, “We don’t have to talk about it now,” he adds and makes purposefully heavy steps as he goes to the bed and sits on the edge, “I only want to make sure you’re not too badly hurt.”

Minutes drag into what feels like hours as he watches Fjord, the way he stands at the basin, hunched in, fingers tight around the table. He doesn’t move, nothing aside from the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes.

“You’ll be disappointed,” he says, when the quiet is almost too much, but his voice is hushed, barely more than a whisper. There’s tinges of Vandran in it, like he’s struggling to keep from bringing the accent back, a layer of protection for himself against whatever’s happened.

“Fjord, I would not—”

Fjord turns suddenly then, shoulders hiked up, like he’s daring Caleb to be anything but disappointed.

Caleb sees what he’d been worried about immediately and he’d been preparing himself for a host of possibilities but none of them were this.

It’s not the black eye or the crooked slant of his nose, the dried blood under it, the ragged cut over his cheek.

It’s his mouth, lips bloody and raw. There’s blood down his chin, staining the front of his ruined shirt.

“Oh Fjord,” he says quietly and stands.

Unchanneled anger lances through him at how Fjord’s first instinct is to flinch. Caleb stays where he stands though and opens his arms, giving the choice to Fjord to decide what he’s comfortable with here and now.

Fjord’s face crumples and he takes a step, two, three, until they’re almost toe to toe before he hesitates, rocks back away, “I don’t want to ruin your coat,” he says then, quiet and delicate, lilting around the words, the traces from earlier faded away once more. He’s fighting it, struggling to just be himself.

Caleb aches for him, shakes his head, “It’s just a coat, you’re more important than it.” It takes effort to not reach out, to not try to draw Fjord to him.

In his own time.

He takes him in instead, tries to take in all of his injuries. The tunic he’d put on this morning, an older one a little worn at the seams and soft with it, is beyond any sort of saving. There’s blood staining down the front, several of the seams have given out, and there’s a slice across Fjord’s abdomen that he’d missed at first glance. The tunic seems to be clinging to the area from the blood and he knows peeling it away is going to be terrible.

Priorities though.

It’s several minutes of them standing there, Caleb keeping his arms spread, as he waits for Fjord to decide.

The movement is slow, Fjord doesn’t actually pick his feet up off the floor, so much as he simply shuffles forward on the wood floors until he can curve himself into Caleb, making himself small to fit with his face against Caleb’s shoulder.

“Is it alright if I hold you?” Caleb asks softly, touching his cheek to the crown of Fjord’s head.

There’s a gentle rumble from Fjord, a non-answer so Caleb waits until Fjord nods against him, his own arms fitting around Caleb’s waist, squeezing him in closer.

Caleb breathes out quietly, looping his arms over Fjord’s shoulders, cupping the back of Fjord’s head with one hand. His shoulders are broader now, all of him bigger since Kravaraad and the Wildmother, but Caleb still wraps around him the best he can.

And Fjord just quakes against him, silent and clinging.

Stroking his palm up and down the curve of Fjord’s spine, Caleb waits until his shaking subsides, until his hands go lax where he’s been clinging, “Why haven’t you healed yourself, beloved?” He asks as gentle as he can scratching his nails through the soft bristle on the back of Fjord’s head.

Fjord exhales loudly against his shoulder, like he’s defeated, and edges back, not quite meeting Caleb’s eyes, “I used most of my magic on Nott and...” he frowns down at his own hands, and looking at them now, Caleb can see his bloody knuckles and bloody nails. 

He doesn’t think all the blood is from the fight, judging on the ragged state of Fjord’s claws. “And?” He prompts.

“I healed those guys.”

Caleb inhales in surprise, but not quite surprise, just genuine emotion that he can’t name for Fjord.

Fjord starts to hunch up his shoulders again and Caleb shakes his head, pressing his hands gently to Fjord’s shoulders, squeezing them, trying to convey something, though he doesn’t know what. “You’re a good man, Fjord,” he says quietly, “a far better man than you give yourself credit for.”

Then, without giving Fjord the chance to refute that, he gently nudges Fjord’s shoulders, “Come sit, let me clean you up.”

And Fjord lets himself be moved until he sinks into the chair that he’d clearly knocked away from the table with the basin. He says nothing, his hands clasped in his lap, head tilted back so Caleb can look him over.

“Handsome,” he murmurs softly, presses a kiss to Fjord’s forehead, then steps to the basin. And he knows what he heard clattering now, sees the file sitting in the bottom, the water pink tinged with blood. His perfect memory doesn’t stretch as far back as the others think, but he’s got a good idea of the last time this file was in use, and its been months, he’d actually thought Fjord had gotten rid of the thing.

Caleb breathes out quietly, shrugs out of his coat, his holsters, rolls his sleeves up above his elbows. And he keeps his checking on Fjord, though everytime he looks, Fjord is looking back, passive and eyes half lidded, like the fight has completely sapped out of him.

He picks up one of the rags, makes a mental note to drop some extra gold with the inn owner, and turns back to Fjord, “Still gut?”

Fjord reaches out for him this time, cups his hips and gently pulls him in until he’s standing between Fjord’s knees, “Better,” he says, which means maybe not good, but getting there, which is all Caleb can ask really.

So he starts with Fjord’s mouth, careful even passes of the rag, wiping the blood away from his chin and neck, “I need to get the healer’s kit,” he says quietly, when he can start to see the damage that Fjord had done to his mouth in his upset. He makes no move to step away though, gently pressing his thumb against Fjord’s raw lower lip, “May I see?”

The hands on his hips tense and relax several times, Fjord refuses to meet his eyes, but he opens his mouth, just enough.

Caleb presses his thumb in, passes over each of Fjord’s tusks with gentle pressure, assessing. The left one has taken the brunt clearly, though his tusks hadn’t started even to begin with, the left one is clearly lower than the right now, blunted further down and uneven. Like Fjord had started with the left side and moved to the right when he’d deemed it low enough. He pulls his thumb away, brushes it along Fjord’s jaw.

There’s a lot of things he wants to say, but not one of them seems sufficient right now, so he says none of them.

He nudges the back of his hand against Fjord’s shoulder, steps away to the bed when Fjord releases him, “Just a moment.” The healer’s kit is where he’d placed it on the bed and he scoops it up, unwrapping the ribbon as he crosses the room again.

As soon as he’s close, Fjord cups hands around the backs of his thighs this time, holds him there while Caleb opens the kit, organizes everything on the table by the basin.

“Its been awhile since I’ve done this,” he says, to fill the silence, not expecting an answer.

And one doesn’t come, so he takes the small tin of salve and wrinkles his nose at the heavy herbal smell, “Do your allergies extend beyond cats?” He asks, turning to Fjord with the tin in time enough to see his headshake. Nodding, he swipes some of the salve on his finger and smooths it over Fjord’s lower lip, the area below it that’s rough from the file.

He replaces the salve and takes the rag again, rinsing it as best he can in the already tinged water, before he starts cleaning the rest of the dried blood off of Fjord’s face, “Jester or Caduceus may be able to right your nose.” 

Fjord meets his gaze, eyes wide and solemn, “Maybe I can make it work for me,” he near mumbles, barely audible, “it certainly works for you.”

“You could work a potato sack, my love,” Caleb tells him, offering a smile at the hesitant smile that Fjord gives him. “May I see your hands?” He thumbs salve gently over the shallow cut across Fjord’s cheek.

It makes Fjord withdraw again, only a little, before he seems to realize what he’s doing, and he presses his forehead to Caleb’s belly, though doesn’t move his hands, “I can do it. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this,” he says there, the words muffled into Caleb’s tunic.

Caleb thinks of Vandran, tries to picture a younger Fjord, thinks of lighting fire to a ship captain he’s never met, protecting a young half orc from the cruelties of the world. He wishes that suffering on no one, but to think of all that Fjord has suffered through, to still come out the man he is now, it’s a strength that Caleb is endlessly in awe of.

Instead, he cups the back of Fjord’s head with both hands, traces the points of his ears with his thumbs, “I want to,” he breathes out, “I want to do this for you, I want to be here for you in any way that you’ll have me. You’re not a burden to me, Fjord, you never have been and you never will be.”

Fjord makes a sound, like he’s taken a sucker punch to the gut, wet and hollow. 

“Will you let me take care of you?” He asks softly, while Fjord shakes against him. Then he passes his hands down to Fjord’s shoulders, up and down, gentle sweeps. 

The only sound for a while is from Fjord, wetly snuffling, face still hidden against Caleb’s abdomen. 

Caleb’s awareness of time is nothing to this, to giving Fjord all the time he needs.

He’s spent a lot of time waiting on Fjord and will continue to do so.

Eventually, Fjord stops snuffling and a while after that, he eases back, croaking out a hoarse, “Thank you.” Which is a step, Caleb thinks with vindictive satisfaction. If it’d been mere months ago, maybe, he thinks he would’ve been given an apology.

“May I see your hands now?” He asks softly, brushing away tear tracks with his thumbs.

Fjord’s exhale rattles, but he nods, turns his face to kiss Caleb’s palm, then withdraws his right hand, offering it up. The ends of his fingers are bloody and raw, his claws jagged like he’d hadn’t taken care with his jackknife the way he usually does.

Caleb rubs his thumb gently over his knuckles, making sure none of them are split, though they are swollen. “You’ll have to sheer these again,” he says quietly, aiming for neutral, though that fury for nameless, faceless men is curling in his belly. He swallows it down, tucking it away, and dips Fjord’s hand into the basin, rinsing away the worst of the drying blood.

The water in the basin is dark now and he’ll need clean water to tend to the cut on Fjord’s abdomen that he still hasn’t properly got a look at.

“Would it be all right,” he starts, releasing Fjord’s right hand and gesturing to the left. It looks less worse off, though he knows that’s because Fjord’s dominant hand is his right, “if I messaged one of the others to bring us some clean water?”

He waits only a second or two, before adding a hasty, “You don’t have to see them at all if you do not wish. I simply—” he swallows, frowns, meets Fjord’s gaze. Fjord is still watching him, quiet and solemn, so he inhales, musters, “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Fjord’s eyebrows draw and Caleb can see the protest, so he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not that,” he says, “I promise, it’s not that.”

He exhales noisily, tries to gather his thoughts together, “I merely do not wish to be apart from you while you are upset, my love.”

Fjord’s exhale is louder than his, still shuddering in the wake of his tears, his shoulders dipping and he nods, “I really don’t want you to leave,” he rasps, “ever.”

Caleb hunches down to press his lips to Fjord’s forehead, lingering there for a moment, his chest thick with so many emotions that he feels fit to bursting as Fjord’s arms encircle him once more. He turns to press his cheek to the top of Fjord’s head, still bent awkwardly over him and not caring, “Would Beau be all right?”

“That’s fine,” Fjord says, barely more than a whisper.

Cupping the back of his head with one hand, Caleb gently scritches fingers through his hair and brings up his other hand to activate the wire, aiming for the girl’s room, “ _Beau, could you bring some clean water to Fjord and I’s room?_ ”

“ _Caleb!_ ” Nott’s voice shrieks into his head and he winces, but smiles, “ _Is Fjord okay? I’m sending Beau that way! Youcanreplytothismessage._ ”

Huffing out a quiet laugh, he meets Fjord’s curious gaze, “ _Nott, mein freund. Fjord is doing better. How are you doing?_ ”

Fjord snorts softly and butts gently against his belly, nuzzles there so Caleb keeps scratching over his scalp in easy circles. There’s clicking at the door and he realizes it’s locked, but the lock tips over and Beau’s head pops around the corner.

“I’m doing really good, Caleb!” Comes the drunken shout from across the hall and Caleb shakes his head, fondness overwhelming him.

“She’s so fucking plastered and it took her one try to pick the lock with mage hand,” Beau says, far too impressed for the situation. She edges in when she seems to realize she’s not going to get shooed out immediately, concern sliding over her features quickly as she comes closer.

One of Fjord’s hands twists in his tunic, but he turns his face to look at Beau.

And she doesn’t react, simply gives him a once over as she approaches, edging around the two of them, to the basin. Over Fjord though, Caleb can see her face go tight with concern and anger, especially when she sees the state of the basin and the water within. She spares him a glance, the weight of it heavy, before she hefts the basin up, “I’ll be back,” she says without a backwards glance, though she does call a, “Stay fully dressed!”

Caleb snorts softly and Fjord relaxes against him. “I still need to see the cut on your stomach, Fjord,” he says with as much authority as he can muster in this situation. It’s not much.

Fjord sighs loudly, “I know,” but takes his time letting go, easing back.

“Here, stand up, let me sit in the chair,” Caleb instructs quietly, cupping the back of Fjord’s left arm to turn him against the table so he’s very nearly sitting on the edge. And pulling the healer’s kit as he goes, he sinks into the now vacant chair, drawing it closer to Fjord.

He squeezes Fjord’s hip once, before starting to peel his tunic up as gently as he can. Like he predicted, it sticks to the edges of the wound and he winces, carefully trying to pull it away from the dried blood, “I’m sorry,” he says, noticing the tight grip Fjord’s taken of the edge of the table. There’s really no better way to do it, so he persists.

When it’s free, he glances up at Fjord, finds Fjord looking back, eyebrows drawn tight together from the pain, “I’d say that’s the worst of it, but I think this might need more than just water cleaning.”

Fjord only nods at him, flexing his fingers away from the table, “My knife is in my pocket, you can cut the shirt off.”

Caleb lifts an eyebrow at him, enjoys the way it makes Fjord huff and flush, “I’ve dreamt of that sentence in much better circumstances,” he teases, just to see Fjord duck his chin, coy and shy. It feels good to know that even in the wake of whatever’s happened, they can still just be them.

“Flirt,” Fjord accuses, but so fond, and palms his jackknife out, holding it out.

“Mmhmm, for you,” Caleb replies and flips the blade open, the way he’s seen Fjord do so many quiet nights, the two of them shoulder to shoulder in a bed. The tunic slices surprisingly easy and he remembers watching Fjord quietly sharpen his knife while Nott sharpened some of the group’s collected daggers.

He’s just closed the knife when there’s a thud against the door and then it swings open. “Did you just kick an unlocked door open, Beauregard?” He asks, sliding the knife back into Fjord’s pocket before he turns to her.

She’s got a lip curled at them, “This is some kinky bullshit,” she says, but the look drops when Caleb turns his shoulder more to reveal the cut. “Fuck, you’re making it really hard for me to talk shit today,” she directs this to Fjord as she carries the basin over, surprisingly sloshing none of the water on the floor. 

“Jester told me to bring some clear alcohol to clean any wounds,” this, she directs to Caleb.

Caleb nods and edges out of her way, giving her access to both Fjord and the table, though he keeps his eyes on Fjord.

“When has that ever stopped you?” Fjord asks, rallying a little to meet her energy.

She tips her head, lips pursing as she concedes to him, before she slides the basin back onto the table. Then turns and socks Fjord on the shoulder, but even Caleb can tell she pulls it heavily, “That’s for scaring the shit outta everyone,” she says, though she sniffs hard after, “and for getting into a fight without me.” She pulls a bottle out of her robes and drops it on the table as well.

Fjord laughs though, reaches out, knocks his knuckles against her chin, “Still my first mate,” he says, low, “plenty of fights for us to get into in the future.”

Rolling her shoulders back, she nods once, sharp, “Damn right,” and flicks a two fingered salute at them both before she leaves the room, “We’ll bring you up dinner later,” she adds, before the door clicks shut.

Caleb goes to the door to lock it back and when he turns around, Fjord has picked up the alcohol, has it tipped back, taking several healthy mouthfuls of it. Humming quietly, he rejoins him at the table, “I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to help in this situation,” he teases, presses a kiss to the center of Fjord’s chest.

“I feel like it’s a start,” Fjord rumbles underneath him, the bottle clinking as he replaces it.

Before he can get sucked into this, Caleb takes half a step back and scoops up the other rag and bottle both, but Fjord takes the bottle from him before he can carry out his plan. He watches in a strange muted shock as Fjord covers his thumb over the opening and then tips the bottle against his skin, just above the cut.

Fjord hisses loudly, lower lip caught in his teeth, and Caleb rubs his sides at a loss of what else to do for the moment.

“That is certainly one way to do it,” Caleb says as Fjord puts the bottle back down, then returns to tightly gripping the table as Caleb gently swipes the rag around the edges of the cut. Worrying his lower lip with his teeth, he steps back enough to meet Fjord’s gaze, tilts his head a little, searching, “Would you be amenable to letting someone heal you now?”

He reaches out and cups his hands over Fjord’s on the edge of the table, “Not now necessarily, but maybe when dinner is brought to us?”

Fjord tips his head this way and that, the sign that he’s warring with himself and truly thinking his answer out. Then he exhales very slowly, “I’d be okay with that.” Though the way he says it is like he’s dragging the words out of himself.

There’s something there, something about what Fjord thinks he deserves, that acrid twist that he knows is there, that he knows Fjord’s been battling long before the _Tide’s Breath_. Now isn’t the time to press on it, so Caleb nods, exhales quietly, “Thank you,” he says and forces himself to not tack on some selfish platitudes.

He has plenty of them though. His dislike for seeing Fjord in pain is top of the list.

“I’ll wrap this for now,” he takes some of the bandages from the healer’s kit and gently pulls Fjord from the table towards the middle of the room. And Fjord is quiet again, lets himself be manipulated easily, so Caleb pushes his arms up, then sets about wrapping his middle as carefully as he can, ducking under Fjord’s elbows to move around him as he goes.

When he’s done, he uses his teeth to tear the bandage, tucking it under to keep it in place.

Fjord snorts softly, rubbing his hands over the material, “Where were you with this talent when I was a teenager?” He says quietly and Caleb presses a kiss to his shoulder before he walks back to the table.

He puts the healer’s kit as back to rights as he can, uses the fresh water and some of the alcohol to clean his hands off, listens to Fjord shuffle around behind him as he drags his own tunic over his head. Laughs softly when Fjord whistles from the direction of the bed as he balls it up and leaves it on the table to deal with later.

His boots come off next, his components pouch, the leather thong around his thigh, left in a pile in the vacant chair. Fjord’s eyes are heavy on his back as he works and when he looks, Fjord is up at the head of the bed, lounging against the pillows, “Gut?”

“Yeah,” Fjord pats the bed next to him and Caleb smiles, zero hestiation in joining him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Caleb asks as he settles himself against the pillows, so their shoulders are pressed together.

Fjord is quiet next to him for several minutes, nothing but their quiet breathing filling the room, the sounds from below drifting up. Then he turns suddenly, tips himself onto his side, “Will you hold me?” His voice is so quiet, just barely there, but Caleb simply lifts his arm.

It takes a little adjusting, trying to be careful to not put too much pressure onto the wound of Fjord’s stomach, and he ends up curved into Caleb’s side, cheek against his chest. Caleb runs his fingers through Fjord’s hair, down his back, and back up again, making gentle circuits.

The rumbling purr that he’s become accustomed to never comes and he worries about it for a bit, until Fjord exhales, “The men were drunk,” is what he says to start.

Caleb pauses, palm flat against the curve of Fjord’s skull, “You don’t have to tell me now.”

Fjord turns his face against his chest, nose to his ribcage, and he breathes there for some time.   
“I want to,” he muffles there, a hand tucking under Caleb’s tunic, claw points gentle against his skin, “Bottling things up has never done me any good and I want to tell you things.”

“Okay,” Caleb replies, running his fingers through Fjord’s hair, gently detangling the curls.

It’s quiet for a bit, as Fjord presses against his skin, hides there, breathes and exists, and Caleb is happy to let him do it as long as he needs, wants, combing through his thick hair, wondering if maybe he’ll be able to coax Fjord to a bathhouse after he’s been healed. Thinks about washing his hair for him.

“They started on Nott first,” he says suddenly, “the usual goblin bullshit. She didn’t even react, you know how she is about that kinda stuff, just kept playing cards and talking. I think that just pissed them off more.”

He tries to keep his breathing even, but there’s no stopping the way his heart trips over himself at the concept of Nott or Fjord either having to deal with that.

Fjord’s hand pets down his side gently, maybe unaware that he’s even doing it, “So they started on me,” he exhales heavily, entire body lifting with it, “it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before, you know? I was plenty ready to ignore them, but they didn’t like that either.”

“One of them came at me, said he’d wear my tusks as a necklace,” Fjord says it so quietly, so small, and Caleb curls his fingers against Fjord’s scalp, suddenly glad that he hadn’t been present for any of this, “That’s when Nott stabbed him and hell broke loose.”

Caleb can only breath, work through his own rage, set it aside in favor of every good thing he feels for Fjord, craning to press a kiss to the top of Fjord’s head, “You are so brave and so good,” he says there, voice thick, “Most people do not deserve you and I’m thankful all the time that you think I do.”

And Fjord is shaking again, trembling against his side, and his skin is getting damp, but the purring starts once more, rattling around Fjord’s chest even as he shakes and cries and Caleb cards fingers through his hair, strokes his back.

“I love you,” Caleb tells him, to the top of his head, “I have loved, will love, am in love with you.”

Fjord makes a strangled sound against his skin, presses a clumsy damp kiss against his ribcage, then his collarbone, his jaw, “I love you,” he replies, voice hoarse from all the crying he’s done, “I love you so much I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes.”

“Just be right here with me,” Caleb says.

“I will,” Fjord finally lifts up and Caleb hums gently at him, reaches up to swipe the tears from his cheeks with his thumbs, relishes quietly in the way Fjord tips into his palms, gaze going soft. “I will,” he says again, letting himself be drawn into a soft kiss.

They part on a mutual exhale and Fjord settles against his shoulder, face tucked into Caleb’s neck, the gentle purring kicking up in earnest as Caleb touches him with gentle fingers and quiet settles around them.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @vowofenmity on twitter


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